There's Something about Recovery
by Yessica-N
Summary: There's something about recovery that Papyrus has yet to find out. (Post-Pacifist. Warning for Eating Disorders and past Child Abuse)


**This work is a commission for the incredible endless-fluttering on tumblr. I can't express how much these help me!**

 **This is about the ED!Papyrus verse I have written little drabbles for in the past. But you needn't have read them to read this fic.**

 **Warnings for eating disorders and child abuse.**

* * *

There's something about recovery Papyrus once read in a surface magazine.

The kind that has serious looking, grey-haired humans in suits on the cover and a fancy font.

He doesn't remember exactly what, he doesn't even recall what page it was on and usually his memory is quite good concerning such things.

He just knows there were steps. A fool-proof plan for getting better. A ready-made solution to being fixed. A way out.

There's something about recovery, Papyrus just wishes he knew what it was.

* * *

Food isn't technically a problem on the surface.

Every time he goes out for groceries, Papyrus roams well-stocked shelfs in stores overflowing with produce. The choices are endless.

Maybe a bit _too_ endless, judging by the way Sans stares at him when he comes home with five different brands of oatmeal.

"You need to stop doing this." His brother tells him, pointedly opening one of their cupboards. A small avalanche of cereal boxes pours out.

"They were on sale." Papyrus offers as way of explanation and silently vows to himself to build them a storage room later.

* * *

Sometimes it still isn't enough. He stares at their supplies, save and ample and all theirs, nobody will touch them. And still his brain just _stops-_

Papyrus suspects all the food in the world wouldn't even be enough to not make him do this.

It's like something irrational slips into his mind and takes root there and he doesn't really _need_ to eat, does he?

Doesn't deserve it either.

He starts with just a few days, planning carefully for a time when Sans is busy at university and barely home to scold him, because it makes him feel like he's a little kid again.

As if it weren't the other way around. As if it weren't Papyrus who was always the responsible one.

Sans so readily forgets years of Papyrus starving himself for his brother's sake just so he can pretend to have the moral high ground here and he hates it.

And now it's just another bad habit of his. A silly quirk he picked up along the way and can't get rid of. Oh so fucking funny it must be, watching as he tears himself apart for no reason.

When Sans does get home, he notices immediately and is angry.

Papyrus probably had it coming too.

"You need to stop doing this." Sans says, a pale echo of what he said a few days ago. An endless repeat of what he always says, but firmer. "This isn't healthy anymore."

Papyrus doesn't point out that nothing about the two of them could in any way be considered healthy.

"There's nothing wrong." He says, a lie so transparent it kind of falls apart between them, but Sans shakes his head and leaves him alone so it's fine.

He abstains for five more days after that.

* * *

In those nights, he often dreams of his father.

It seems to correlate perfectly with him starving himself, so Papyrus can't help but think of it as the sweetest type of self-inflicted punishment.

And when he sleeps it's like he's back there again.

The doctor used to tell him everything requires sacrifices, while holding out a piece of bread so moldy a dog wouldn't even touch it.

"Take it and your brother will get nothing."

Papyrus remembers himself like that so clearly, barely a child, sitting on his hands to keep them from twitching and shaking his head.

The doctor smiled and so had he.

It seemed so fair back then. An equivalent exchange that made as much logical sense to him as the tile rooms they lived in or the fact that they had no real names, just numbers.

"You're a very good brother. S-1 should be proud." Their father had said and that too Papyrus had believed, even for a long while after.

A week later he came back. Papyrus stopped biting his fingers, father said it was bad. The bread he brought was the exact same piece he had the previous time. Papyrus could tell, thought it looked hardly recognizable anymore.

Gaster didn't offer it, just stared down at him, ignoring the dust covering the floor. "Do you want it?" He asked.

Papyrus had exhaled shakily, vision blurry. "Yes."

"Are you sure?"

He probably should have known it was a trick. Definitely, should have. Maybe the lack of nutrition had muddled his thinking process somewhat.

He couldn't help the fact that not even for a second Sans was on his mind.

"Yes, please."

It practically fell apart when it hit the ground, rotting away on the inside and Papyrus hunched over it gratefully, scooping it into his mouth with broken fingers.

"You're disgusting." his father said, averting his eyes in contempt and in that moment, remembering the vivid image of Sans going hungry tonight, Papyrus would agree.

He wakes up shaking, taking way too long to connect to reality and when he does it just leaves him feeling empty. He can't sleep anymore that night.

"Did you dream of him again?" Sans asks him the next morning. Despite everything probably the only one who could tell he was upset at all.

It's funny how that works.

"I'm fine." Papyrus says evenly and Sans sags back in relief, content not to have to open that particular line of inquiry today.

Everything requires sacrifices.

* * *

Papyrus isn't great at not overdoing things.

Probably another lesson his father has inadvertently taught him. There's no use in half-measures.

It's been a lifetime, several lifetimes seeing their particular circumstances, and if he paid a lot of money for a professional to tell his story to, Papyrus suspects they would probably tell him to get over it already.

He thinks he should get over it already too.

Then he's lying on their kitchen floor, staring at the ceiling without the slightest clue of how he got there.

Sans is whispering something, or maybe he's yelling and Papyrus isn't hearing properly.

The second option is decidedly more likely, as the world shifts above him in very sickening ways, unpleasantly obscuring his vision, so he squeezes his sockets close instead.

When Sans touches his shoulder he has to fight every instinct not to push him away, opting for immobility and a muffled groan that should at least convey he's still alive.

"For fuck's sake Papyrus, I thought you said it was fine." His brother mutters, maybe not addressing him directly but still making him feel the need to open one eye and try to look stern.

"Language, Sans."

"I'm not joking around this time." Sans says, helping him sit up at least, though he feels incredibly shaky. The back of his skull hurts like heck, but besides that he's not much too worse for wear.

It has only been two weeks, after all.

"You _need_ to stop doing this." Sans stresses again.

There's something about recovery Papyrus read in a surface magazine once that he doesn't remember.

Until he does, and when it comes back to mind, unearthed suddenly like it never left, like he always knew but just didn't want to see it, it kind of hurts.

Almost as much as it hurts to admit you have a problem. Which is always the first step.

"You need to stop." is what Sans always tells him, over and over.

Like a broken record that skips back time after time and nothing will ever change if nobody fixes the gramophone.

"I don't know how." Papyrus replies this time.

* * *

It might have been nice if he knew what came next. But he guesses saying it out loud was probably a good thing.

Or it should have been, weren't it for the fact that Sans concluded hovering over Papyrus every waking second of every single day was the logical solution to their little conundrum.

"Could you maybe... not do this?" Papyrus asks finally, when Sans is sitting across from him at the table staring at him like some kind of creepy statue while he's trying to enjoy his oatmeal.

Very unsettling. No wonder the human didn't like it when his brother did that.

"Just pretend I'm not here." Sans says, and Papyrus kind of choke-laughs at that.

It probably wasn't even a joke.

"I'm going over to Undyne's." He says, getting up and leaving the rest of the bowl unfinished, which makes Sans clench his fists impatiently, but he doesn't respond.

"Maybe I should-" He starts instead, already pushing back his chair and Papyrus is at the door in record time, slamming to closed before his brother can finish his sentence.

There's something about recovery, but Papyrus is sure this isn't it.

* * *

He ends up not going to Undyne after all. They haven't seen each other that much since coming to the surface, because training is no longer a requirement and their cooking lessons have kind stopped being a priority at all in contrast to adjusting to surface life, so he can't help but think it would be a bit awkward to finally come knocking at her door just because he's running away from his brother.

Besides, she's probably having way more fun hanging with Alphys than with him anyhow.

That's how he ends up in Frisk's bedroom instead. It's cosy, he must admit, the bed all but disappears beneath a heap of stuffed animals and the small human offers him imaginary tea in little plastic cups that remind Papyrus of the beakers in his father's lab.

The thought of tea makes him a bit nauseous at the moment, but he doesn't refuse the make-believe beverage. Now _that_ would be absolutely silly.

Frisk sits across from him, sipping their not-tea with a serious expression, waiting for him to start talking.

Somehow their stare is worse than Sans's could ever hope to be.

"I don't know what to do." He says eventually, putting the cup down and Frisk does too. The time for play pretend is over.

'The Great Papyrus always knows what to do.' They sign with conviction, smiling, and their believe in him would be heartwarming if it didn't taste so bitter.

Wasn't it supposed to be the other way around anyway?

"No, I really don't." He answers, and they drop their hands into their lap thoughtfully, as if they can't quite see that as right. "I don't know how to... be better."

The child purses their lips, head tilting sideways and in that moment Papyrus regrets being here, telling them this. They deserve their happy ever after, they worked hard enough for it. Who is he to come and ruin it for them?

'Have you been bad?' They ask carefully, signing that last word with considerable care, as if it's filthy and they don't even want to utter it. Their hand hovers in front of them, palm facing down and it's trembling.

Papyrus knows they still think they've been bad too.

"I don't know." He says with a shrug.

His father used to say he was bad all the time. Every time he got food.

But at least he was a good brother. That's what he hoped.

"Can you be bad trying to do good things?" He asks them and they nod, something tight in the motion that makes it hard for him to look at them. Their shoulders shake a bit so he holds them to stop them from crying.

Maybe they've all been bad.

* * *

Sans is waiting for him when he comes home.

"We need to talk about this." He says as soon as Papyrus opens the front door, and for a second he thinks about closing it again and running away.

It would certainly be an option.

Not a solution though.

He takes a seat on the couch instead, rigidly and stares at the wall. Sans sighs.

"I'm sorry I didn't do anything sooner." His brother says and the suddenness of the apology is enough to make Papyrus look at him in surprise.

"Right." He answers, then pauses. Telling his brother it isn't his fault would be a lie so he doesn't. Not that it is solely Sans's fault either but-

"You remember our father, right?"

This is definitely the part of this equation Papyrus does not want to talk about, but it's too late for that too and he knows it.

"A bit." He answers. "Not everything."

But more than enough. More than Sans, probably, despite him being the younger one. They think.

Who can say, besides the Doctor himself, and he's long gone.

"I know he did bad things-" Sans starts and Papyrus laughs, he can't help it.

"That would be the understatement of the year."

"Well, ok, he did a lot of horrible things. But he's gone now, Paps. You can't- _We_ can't let him dictate our lives anymore. Especially now." And he gestures at the world around them, at the surface as a whole.

At everything they've accomplished and which could so easily be ruined again.

Papyrus knows he's right but it's just not that simple.

"Don't you think I would like that?" He says, and he tries so hard not to sound like he's accusing Sans of anything but he's not sure it works. "I would love for all of that to magically be over with. But it's doesn't work like that, Sans."

"I know." Sans mutter, but Papyrus isn't so sure he does. Running away from your problems only gets you so far, mostly in a backwards direction, but have they ever tried anything else?

Run away and hope for the issue to automatically vanish. Very convenient, if it works that way.

Too bad it really doesn't.

"I don't know how to fix this." Papyrus tells him, and if his voice is shaking then neither of them acknowledges it. Not right now. "I don't know how to be alright again."

The pause that falls between his confession and his brother's response is almost maddening. He's already looking for a conveniently placed window to plan his escape.

"I don't know either." Sans admits.

Well, that was to be expected, wasn't it?

"But we can figure this out together, right?" He continues, in a way that is so heartfelt Papyrus can't help but smile at it. It reminds him of when they were kids.

"Of course we can." He answers, calling on years of believing in everything and everyone to maybe possibly belief himself this one time.

It's a work in progress.

* * *

Some things are easier said than done, after all.

For a short time everything seems to go back to normal. Or to their old dysfunctional self, that is.

Papyrus doesn't build that supply closet after all. He's working on a miniature train set instead, to give Frisk for their birthday.

But he does make a list. A list of all the things they have and what's running out and what they need to get more of. And he makes one each and every day.

Even if that last one is still ridiculously long in comparison.

If he can at least stick to it and nothing more when shopping then maybe that's a start.

The first time he manages just that, he rewards himself. Not with a new puzzle or a snow globe or a fashion magazine, but with one of those fancy granola bars the human internet gets so immensely excited about.

It's utterly disgusting, as Papyrus quickly discovers, he can't imagine anybody actually liking it. But he ate it and that's what matters.

* * *

They try to get back into the habit of having their meals together, just the two of them sitting opposite each other at their small kitchen table with the annoying dog jumping against their legs in hopes of getting a bite or two.

It always magically seems to appear around dinnertime.

Papyrus doesn't really remember why they stopped doing this in the first place, but he can guess.

He didn't realize how on edge the sight of Sans with food makes him either until just then and he has to bite his proverbial tongue several times not to scold his brother for not eating enough. Seeing as his own plate is nearly full still, it would be a very hypocritical thing to do too.

They do a lot more staring than actual eating but somehow they manage and Sans smiles at him so that's good.

Afterwards, he goes into the bathroom and gets on his knees. It's been too long since he's done this, he gets rusty, but somehow he manages to force his magic into expelling itself, half-converted food chunks that disappear into their toilet.

He heaves through it awkwardly, he forgot how good it feels. How liberating it is.

There's something about recovery, sometimes it makes things worse.

* * *

He only manages to do it a few times before Sans gets suspicious.

Took him long enough still, considering their toilet is a guests only accommodation, under normal circumstances.

Papyrus is waiting for him to tell him to 'stop doing this' again, he can already hear it. But Sans doesn't.

"I didn't know it was this bad." His brother says instead, shaking his head and there it is. That nagging flutter that pulls on Papyrus's soul and makes him feel 8 years old again.

Huddling together in some abandoned shack near New Home, where nobody would find them, not even their father, though they doubted he'd be able to reach them still anyway. And Sans tells him it will be alright, he will fix this, but he doesn't do anything besides stare out the window at the distant lights of the city and mumble about how he'll solve everything.

And Papyrus sighs and gets up and seeks out food and blankets and pillows and if he can't find anything in the garbage heaps he'll go towards where the monsters live and steal it. And tell Sans he just 'got lucky'.

It was a different time, for sure.

"We can get you some help." Sans says, because even he can see this is something that goes way over both their heads. Something that leaves marks deeper than he can comprehend.

But hopefully somebody else can.

* * *

Because there are others. Of course there are.

The first time Papyrus goes to a meeting he feels extremely uncomfortable and out of place, and not just because he's the only monster there. Which certainly doesn't help, but at least these people don't stare at him like some other humans do.

Mostly they keep their eyes downcast.

And as they tell their stories one by one, Papyrus feels the increasing urgency to flee the room and not look back. He doesn't belong here.

A young girl tells how she started purging the first few times. How exhilarating it felt, and something chokes inside him. She tells about wanting to fit in, to be skinny, stop the voices that torment her on a daily basis and as much as Papyrus feels the need to get up and hug her, because nobody deserves that pain, it makes him feel wrong somehow as well.

Like he's an interloper among them.

His reasons were never so logical, so clear. His were far more selfish.

And he hates it.

He almost doesn't go back the next week. He can go to the park, to the library, anywhere but back there and tell Sans he went. He can do this on his own.

Only, he can't, not really, and there's a voice inside his head that tells him this in such nagging remarks that he almost _has_ to go just to prove it right.

It sounds a lot like his former best friend.

So he goes.

And there's a woman there. She looks older, with grey hair and a sensible blouse that probably impresses her grandchildren and makes them think she's fine and as Papyrus looks at her he realizes she reminds him of those humans on the magazine covers.

So pristine and untouchable.

She tells them about being a little kid and being forced to sit outside on the steps of a diner as her parents are having lunch inside. She tells about being forced on a diet, at age 6, because they couldn't afford any food. She tells of a boy asking to buy her ice cream, and her saying she can't. No, she didn't know why she couldn't, she just _couldn't_.

He probably fancied her, she adds with a laugh, and it sounds as broken as Papyrus feels in that moment.

There's something about recovery, sometimes it's realizing you're not alone.

* * *

He really should have expected Sans to tell the others. Undyne probably already kind of knew anyway, but it still surprises him when she calls him a few days later.

She sounds a bit strained, it's been a while since they talked and it reflects in every word and maybe next time Papyrus can pretend he isn't home? Let the phone ring until it stops and breathe a sigh of relief instead.

"Do you want to come over?" She finally asks, when all the awkward smalltalk is over with and Papyrus sighs.

"I don't know."

He doesn't know much these days, to be honest.

"Ok... yeah, that's fine." Undyne mumbles on the other end of the line, and he can hear in her voice that it isn't, but she hangs up before he can say anything else.

He wants to bang his head against the wall afterwards for hurting her that way. He's such an idiot sometimes.

It takes him a few days to be able to eat again after that.

* * *

"I cooked for you." Sans announces when Papyrus comes home from the talk group. He's almost disproportionally proud about it and that alone kind of makes it amusing for Papyrus, even if it weren't for the obvious role switch.

He probably looked dubious enough at the statement as is, because his brother rolls his eyes at him.

"Don't worry, Toriel helped."

"Well that explains why you didn't burn the house down." Papyrus jests and Sans perk up at him making the rare joke. He has been way too tired for funny comments lately.

"It's quiche lorraine." Sans says, pronouncing the words with a weird accent that makes no sense at all, but the dish does look good so Papyrus doesn't complain. "Eat up!"

"What about you?" Papyrus asks and it's like a compulsion forces him to but there's only one plate and one set of cutlery and somehow the thought alone is enough to make him sick.

"I'm not hungry." Sans answers, but there's a strain in his smile that says more than words ever could.

And in that one horrible moment it's like everything plays out again in his mind, in slow-motion, yet somehow over with in the blink of an eye. All the times he said those exact same words through gritted teeth and all those times Sans didn't get anything to eat and all the times they couldn't find any food for either of them and all the times he was a bad brother- over and over and over.

All the things that don't matter even one little bit in the grand scheme of things. All that wasted effort.

For what?

"Are you sure?" He doesn't even want to ask but he has to still, but when Sans shakes his head he nods and he eats and that's the end of it.

* * *

And then they run out of something.

Papyrus isn't sure what it was afterwards, something trivial probably, but he remembers Sans coming to him and telling him they're out and he should get some more next time he goes shopping and he remembers nodding and telling his brother he will, but it might be a few days because he's busy.

It doesn't sink in until he's lying in bed and it dawns on him, he has neglected his mulit-list system in favor of a simple post-it on the fridge for keeping track of what they need and for a few seconds that primal panic seizes him again.

The thought of Sans starving before his very eyes and him being helpless to do anything about it and his father smiling in the background telling him he should have prevented this somehow, because that's what good brothers do.

He gets up and he texts Frisk, probably wakes them up too, but he'll have enough time to feel guilty about that later.

Right now he just needs their word again.

And they give it to him, their promise remains the same since that very first day and somewhere Papyrus knows it's sad he can't just trust them with this.

But he'll probably never be able to do that and they both know it. There will always be that doubt.

It's enough to calm him down though and even if he vows to go shopping first thing in the morning instead of when he originally planned to, he goes back to bed.

There's something about recovery, sometimes it's the little things that matter.

* * *

It takes a while, and a lot of gathering his courage, but Papyrus does call Undyne back eventually.

It feels eerily similar to back when he first asked her to train him for the position of royal guardsman. The same anxieties still plague him.

But she seems glad enough to hear from him and when he says he wants to come over sometime she is extremely enthusiastic, just like the old days

"We're cooking right?" She asks, though it's more of a statement than a question and he's glad she brings it up herself, so he doesn't have to. "I learned some new recipes since last time."

"We should, yes." He agrees and he can practically hear her grin through the receiver. It's funny how he can do that.

"I'm sorry about-" He starts and she barges right over that. Of course she does.

"Don't mention it. Seriously, don't. Now I'm thinking spaghetti, but we could do macaroni for an extra challenge, thoughts?"

Jup, exactly like the old days.

There's something about recovery, sometimes it needs a bit of extra time.

* * *

He stops going to the group meetings eventually. At some point talking about his problems has become more bothersome than actually dealing with them and Asgore says that's a good thing.

He understands a thing or two about dealing with your problems, after all.

Papyrus visits him often these days, because it dawned on him how lonely their former king might be, without his people to worry about making happy and only his own regrets to keep him company and Papyrus knows a lot about being lonely himself so they're very similar in many ways.

They work in the garden Asgore still maintains, full of golden buttercups and afterwards they drink tea and sometimes eat scones if they feel up to it. More often than not they do these days, and that's a good thing as well.

"Did you know him?" Papyrus asks one time. Dredging up the past doesn't help anybody but curiosity killed the cat and he's dying to know.

There's still some answers he'll never get.

"I did." Asgore looks like he has aged a million years since coming to the surface, like there's something that's been chasing him for years and finally caught up to him and Papyrus knows he's not the only with demons in his past neither of them has the energy to run from anymore.

"But I didn't know _know._ If it matters."

Papyrus tries to consider if it would. If maybe it could give him somebody to be righteously angry with. Somebody who is still here to punish and not gone from most memory. Except those who _really_ knew him.

"It does to me."

* * *

When Frisk has maintained their promise for a full year there's a small party. Though even that would be an overstatement, it's more of a humble gathering.

Nobody talks about before the surface anymore and Papyrus thinks that's kind of a shame. Just because something is painful doesn't mean you just get to pretend it never happened.

Otherwise, what would be the point?

Frisk asks his help to solve the rubik's cube Alphys gave them for their birthday and Papyrus does, only giving slight hints so that he doesn't give it all away. They're smart enough to figure it out for themselves, he knows.

'Are you better now?' They ask in small hand gestures, as if it's a secret they share and nobody else can know.

"A little bit." He tells them and they nod in relief, small smile gracing their lips. "Are you better?"

'I think so... I hope so.' And when they look at them there's that shame again Papyrus hates so much. A hesitance he knows they'll never get rid of. 'Do you think I'm better?'

Papyrus laughs and when he tousles their short hair they pout in a very undignified manner. "I think you're the best."

'I think you're the best too.' They sign.

Even broken things can be perfect.

* * *

It slowly slips back into place after that, effortlessly yet still the hardest thing he has ever done and while Papyrus supposes it never will be easy it might stop being so fucking tiring some day soon.

Or it won't hurt as much any more.

And he still dreams of their father. And there's still days he barely eats. And he still waits for Sans to finish first before taking seconds.

But maybe that's not so bad either.

Because it never gets _quite_ so severe either and he and Sans are talking for a change, about a lot of things they never talked about before or stuff they stopped talking about for some reason and that makes it worth it too.

There's something about recovery Papyrus once read in a human magazine, that he doesn't really remember.

Something about admitting you have a problem. Something about not looking back. Something about not running away anymore.

There's something about recovery that makes it worthwhile. Something that makes it hard and tiresome and makes you question if you even want to get better at times.

There's something about recovery that means you can't do it alone. But you have to do it by yourself too.

He looks at his brother and Sans looks at him and he realizes they're both happier than they have been for ages. Maybe ever.

There's something about recovery Papyrus didn't know was possible.

It's a bit like finally coming home.

* * *

 **Tumblr: sharada-n**


End file.
